


Richie is Tired, Traumatized, and So Very Bisexual

by Empress_Nocturne



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Bisexual Disaster Richie Tozier, Bisexual Richie Tozier, Fix-It, Gay Eddie Kaspbrak, M/M, Stanley Uris Lives, but like background just know he's alive, the Chaos is there but they're all good in the end, there's a whole lot of trauma to unpack here folks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-06
Updated: 2020-01-06
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:34:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22144180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Empress_Nocturne/pseuds/Empress_Nocturne
Summary: The couch shifted as Eddie fell back onto it, margaritas nearly sloshing out of the glasses. Richie jolted, flinching and inhaling as if he’d held his breath for the past hour, eyes immediately focusing on his clasped hands, short nails digging into flesh. His pulse thrummed in his ears, almost drowning out Eddie’s question. “Are you alright? You look like shit.”“Y-yeah, I’m fine. Just having flashbacks of when I had to turn down Mrs. K once when we were kids.”~~~~~~Eddie is staying with Richie all the way in LA, but Richie's mind is still back in the sewers.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 2
Kudos: 112





	Richie is Tired, Traumatized, and So Very Bisexual

Sometimes, Richie stayed up all night.

Before returning to Derry – hell, now that he remembered, before he even left Derry – Richie would often stay up all night. Those nights usually happened due to trivial reasons, like the gallons of coffee chugged during the day (older) or coping with growing up a bisexual kid in the 80s who didn’t know the word bisexual yet (younger) – simple stuff like that. Never once did they happen because he was too scared to close his eyes. Until now, that is.

Though Richie “Trashmouth” Tozier could talk the ear off a statue if he wanted, he refused to say a word about this to his friends, even as he appeared more and more haggard on their weekly video calls. They’d ask if he was getting enough sleep and he’d spin excuses, as best he could.

“Eh, it’s just a famous performer thing you plebs wouldn’t understand.”

“I’d like to see you deal with my manager and be able to sleep easy at night.”

“I was going to start a viral challenge of chugging a six pack of red bull in one sitting but forgot to film it.”

“I was kept up all night by Mrs. K-”

Here is when they all silenced him with a chorus of beep-beeps, and Richie grinned, especially happy when Eddie shoved Richie completely on the couch.

Having Eddie here with him in LA kind of helped with the nightmares and kind of didn’t. On one hand, Richie could now sneak to the guest room at night if he couldn’t stand the nightmares, or if he couldn’t fall asleep, and just make sure Eddie was alive and well (not in a creepy way, like not Edward-watching-Bella creepy ew no). On the other, sometimes Richie would hear something or glance at Eddie in just the right way and suddenly Eddie’s spewing blood down his chin and a claw's stuck in his abdomen pinning him to the wall and-

“Hey, asshole! Do you want a margarita or not?” Eddie stood in the kitchen, a bottle of very nice tequila in one hand and two glasses (grabbed precariously) in the other. Richie blinked, then turned his shoulders to face Eddie.

“Only if you make it extra strong, Eds.”

“Don’t call me that. And you know I will.”

“That’s my Eddie.” Richie grinned, snickering lightly under his breath as Eddie rolled his eyes and turned away. Richie sighed and turned back to look at the television, blissfully shut off. He slouched down, down, even as his back ached in protest.

The dynamic was kinda weird between him and Eddie. More jokes like calling him ‘babe’ or saying ‘that’s my Eddie’, even calling him hot several times, and Eddie would just roll with it. Once, Eddie said “that’s my Richie” and Richie damn near had a heart attack. Asshole was still more common, though. Just seemed like it was built into their repertoire now. And they probably wouldn’t have that repertoire now if Eddie hadn’t decided to quit his job, divorce Myra, and fly all the way across America just to shack up with Richie.

That had been a fun night, when Eddie turned up unannounced at two in the morning, pounding on Richie’s door and blowing up his phone. He’d shoved past Richie in the doorway, asked where the guest room was, and promptly passed out on the sofa before Richie could get his thoughts in order. Of course, Richie moved Eddie’s things to his guest room and went and tried to fall asleep himself, since this was probably some kind of dream or something, but nope. Eddie was there in the morning, puttering around the kitchen looking for something not-takeout-leftovers to eat and immediately running his mouth about how he quit his job, how he shouldn’t be listening to his impulses, the risks, blah blah blah. He seemed happy, though, so Richie’d shrugged and asked why here?

Eddie’d shrugged right back. “Just felt right, you know? You’re, like, probably the only person who can take me in right now anyways.” The last part felt empty, so Richie could tell that wasn’t the reason, but he’d dropped it and ragged on him about using Richie “for the fame! For the clout!” You know, to cover up the fact that his heart was thrumming faster than a train and his hands were sweating buckets.

Richie stared at the blank television. Stared at his fuzzy reflection in it. His eyes seemed glazed over, unnatural, as if dead, and he was slack-jawed. Slumped. A corpse. He couldn’t look away, even as his throat clenched and he suddenly could barely breathe. His chest rose, fell, rose, fell, yet his reflection remained still, and though he could feel the sweat dripping down his face he couldn’t see it. Trapped.

Eddie approached, and Richie strangled a scream in his throat. That same vision that haunted him, loose-limbed and bleeding and choking. Eddie’s corpse was being dragged by _something_ towards the sofa, or pushed, probably by that claw still stuck in his organs, but now those organs were dragging, dragging on the ground oh god the carpet, and his mouth was covered in red, his eyes were so dead and lifeless, dead dead dead Eds-

The couch shifted as Eddie fell back onto it, margaritas nearly sloshing out of the glasses. Richie jolted, flinching and inhaling as if he’d held his breath for the past hour, eyes immediately focusing on his clasped hands, short nails digging into flesh. His pulse thrummed in his ears, almost drowning out Eddie’s question. “Are you alright? You look like shit.”

“Y-yeah, I’m fine. Just having flashbacks of when I had to turn down Mrs. K once when we were kids.”

Eddie didn’t respond. Not a good sign. Richie didn’t dare blink, barely breathing even as he attempted a grin and a smile – not his strongest joke. Not even in the realm of funny. He steeled his nerves and looked up, locking eyes with Eddie, who was staring at him with a winning combination of concern and anxiety. Great.

“I’m fine, really. Unless you’re not worried and just taking the chance to check this out.”

“No, you fucking idiot. Not right now, not when you look like some kind of knockoff Halloween decoration.”

Oof. That hurt, but understandable. The lack of sleep had been making itself more apparent on Richie’s face, and he’d been neglecting to shave for a few days now.

“Seriously, you’ve been off even before I got here, over calls.” Eddie put one margarita down on the coffee table and swatted Richie’s hand when he reached for it. Eddie sipped his, thinking. “You really should be, you know, doing what you do best and talking about it.”

“On the contrary, I may be a master of talking, but I am also a god of repression.” Richie grinned, letting out a short, empty laugh and straightening up. His back cracked, and if Richie were a glow stick he’d be blinding.

Eddie didn’t talk for a minute, instead looking at the black television screen and gingerly spinning his margarita glass. 

“You weren’t in the deadlights as long as Bev was as a kid, but you had to have seen some shit,” Eddie said, breaking the heavy silence. Richie blinked, but didn’t say a word as Eddie continued on. “You don’t say a word about it, you just kind of… retracted from everyone? After the fight?”

“Not much to retract, we only had, like, a few days to reconnect and all that shit.” Richie shrugged off Eddie’s half-hearted glare. 

“Still, it was weird. We’d defeated It after yelling shit at It, you’d stabbed It with It’s own arm, and then we’re out of the house and you’re so quiet. We all noticed you kept looking at me, or looking away.”

It was true. Richie kept seeing Eddie there, bloody and dying, and he couldn’t take it. Plus, his limbs were still shaking and if he confronted what he kept seeing there he’d have crashed. Not a good look for a triumphant victory.

“...Bet Stan’s the one who pointed it out to you or something. Stan the Man’s always been the most observant of us. You saw how he was down there, terrified and shit, but his voice was steady and he just-”

“Don’t. Change the subject.” Eddie pinched the bridge of his nose, and Richie took the chance to steal Eddie’s margarita, managing to throw half of it down his throat before Eddie got it back. Richie laughed as Eddie swore about germs and fairness and _he made these how dare you go drink your own_ , until Eddie was laughing, too. There. Subject changed, he didn’t have to talk-

“Alright. Feeling better now you have some tequila in your system?” Eddie asked. Clearly he wasn’t letting this go. _Fuck Eds_ , Richie thought. _Fuck me, Eds_.

“No. Not really. No change, not here, my good sir,” Richie shot back, slipping into a cockney accent met with an eye roll from Eddie.

“So you’re still feeling off, then.”

“I mean, aren’t we always? It’s middle age.”

“Richie.”

Damnit. Eddie was so earnest. He’d aged so well, honestly, probably managing to get enough sleep despite (or maybe because?) of his particular anxieties, managed to stay in shape and work out (to stay out of the house and away from Myra, according to him), and managed to stave off financial difficulties. He seemed like he’d never had to pick between paying an electricity bill or having enough food for the month (something Richie did many times when first starting out, freshly ‘on break’ from college, but to be fair he did go back and complete his BA years later but oh well-).

And he seemed pale, like all the blood had drained from his face. Poured down his front and out his stomach. Stained Richie’s couch and floor and hands and face and glasses and-

Richie felt his shoulders shake. Tremble. He raised his hand, pushing his fingers under his glasses, and before he could control himself he began to cry. Not too badly, he thought with the cold little detached part of his brain, but the rest of it was screaming _Don’t Cry! Trashmouth Doesn’t Cry!_

Eddie rested his hand on Richie’s shuddering back, rubbing in small circular motions as Richie sniffled, clearing his throat and trying to minimize all those other crying noises. He was just so damn tired. 

“See, this is why you should talk to u-”

“You really wanna know what I saw in the deadlights, Eds?” Richie’s voice was watery and shaky, but still he gulped down some air and began to still. Eddie didn’t scold Richie for the nickname this time, deciding to listen. 

“...you know, this kinda ties back to when we were kids. You know, I said my biggest fear was clowns, right?” Richie looked up, above the frame of his glasses, and a blurry Eddie nodded.

“Well, I was the world’s biggest liar. You know what it was? Losing you. Some kind of variation of it anyway. And, like, I guess It couldn’t really fully simulate it all the time, so It decided to feed off of the general 70s era or whatever and be all ‘Lookie! I’m Pennywise the Dancing Homophobe!’ or some other shit, plus the general terror and all that jazz.” Here, Richie sat up and mocked the clown, eyes wild and smile hollow, hands splayed and shaking around, acting like a demented second-rate musical actor.

“Homophobe?”

“Yeah, yeah, we’ll get to that later, shaddup. My routine isn’t completely true, whatever. Anyways-”

“Does that explain the closet as the big scary thing back there?” Eddie was trying to fight back a grin and failing. Richie snorted and nodded. “Yeah, definitely. Very literal there.”

Richie swallowed, then gestured to the margarita on the coffee table. Eddie took his hand off Richie’s back and reached for the margarita, handing it to Richie, and Richie took a couple sips.

“Anyways, I’m in the deadlights, all suspended and useless, and that fucker is showing me all this crap. I think the deadlights or It or whatever figured out what I was reacting to the most, so it really showed it in detail. You were supposed to die after you saved me. Like, as in you’re-above-me-and-it-stabs-you-then-throws-you-around die. Like, as in your-blood-covered-my-face-and-glasses die. Like-”

“Okay, I get it, I was brutally murdered.” Despite the dismissive words, the fear in Eddie’s face was obvious.

“Yeah. Okay. So that’s, like, my greatest fear, plus we know that Bev’s seen how we die or whatever, and we don’t know if it’s all gonna come true or not. So yeah, I saved you as soon as I came to.”

“That’s how you knew, then, and why you basically threw me to the side and started running with me.”

“Yep.”

“Can I assume you still have nightmares about the deadlights?”

“Yep. And waking visions, too. Like, sometimes I’ll look at you and I’ll see… well, that. And feel it. Sometimes I’ll also have nightmares about Stan bleeding out in a tub, that was pretty vivid. Or Bowers killing Mike before I killed Bowers, that son of a bitch. And,” Richie paused, putting a finger up as he saw Eddie open his mouth, “I don’t wanna talk about the specifics there right now. Nope. I should probably see a therapist and just frame it as nightmares only or something, dunno.”

“...alright.” Eddie accepted this, somehow, and Richie knew he was dying to ask more. Say something more. So Richie did it for him, because fuck it. Why not.

“I’m bisexual,” he said, far easier than he’d ever been able to say to himself. Silence. “Didn’t know that term back in Derry growing up, so that was a hell of a time. Also had a hell of a time thinking everyone was cute, but not like, in an I-wanna-date-them kinda way. Except for one kid.”

Richie glanced at Eddie. Eddie knew what was coming, Richie could tell, but he said it anyways.

“I was most scared of losing you because I’m in love with you, Eds. Just putting that out there, do with that what you will. I meant to show you where I carved our initials into the Kissing Bridge before we left Derry, but I didn’t get a chance.”

“What do you mean by in love?” Eddie asked, blinking. He seemed remarkably put-together, considering the amount of information Richie just bombarded him with.

“Like, as in I fell for you when we were kids and I kept loving you, even though I technically forgot you. Kinda felt like I was missing something and I could never figure out what it was. Dating never really worked for me, either. Hook-ups? Yes. A relationship? Hell no.”

“Huh.” Eddie nodded to himself, silencing. Great. Richie had to go fucking their dynamic up. Too late to change that. He should probably help Eddie find somewhere else to stay if he wasn’t comfortable living with a man who could barely take care of himself and was in love with him (and had been for so long). Richie stayed silent, not wanting to break the tension. Then he’d have to acknowledge what he said, acknowledge that he’d finally spoke his sexuality into words, admit that he loves Eddie so deeply, far more than he loves himself, and-

“I get you, actually. Never went for dating, and I honestly only married Myra probably because of my mother-inflicted trauma. Don’t you crack a joke about my mom right now, I see you about to do it.” Eddie glared at Richie, dead serious, and Richie could feel his neck begin to sweat. He shut his mouth and nodded. Eddie continued.

“I also felt like something was always missing, like I had lost a love somewhere, and I just couldn’t figure out what it was so I could move on.”

“Love?”

“Yeah, shut up asshole. Maybe you aren’t the only gay person in the Losers Club.”

“You’re gay?”

“Yeah. Hard coming to terms with that with a mom like mine and a town like Derry, but you’d know because you spend oh so much time with her.”

Richie barked out a laugh. “Yeah. I remember what she said about gay people, and disease, and all that absolute bullshit. Man, I may have made so much sweet, sweet love to-”

“Beep beep, Richie.”

“Sorry. But yeah, despite that she really was uncomfortable to be around. And listen to.”

“Yeah. But I don’t want to talk about my mom, she’s dead and she had her time and chose to be the worst with it. Anyways, yeah, I’m gay, and I repressed the hell out of that. Coming back to Derry was awful, but I’m glad I got back the memories, of figuring it out and accepting that, plus standing up to my mom and remembering the club. I think my favorite memories were of you, though. Like when we went to that arcade once, just us?”

“Yeah, and how I absolutely kicked your ass on every single machine?”

“Only because you literally did nothing else with your time! And then you still paid for my popcorn, even though I was supposed to because you won the most games.”

Richie grinned. That had been a great day, especially as Eddie scolded him about upholding deals, lying, how bad popcorn and soda are for you, whatever came to mind, until Richie had grabbed his arm and told him to shut the fuck up because the movie was starting and he was not going to miss the last movie they could see that summer just because Eddie wouldn’t stop yammering about jack shit.

Eddie scooted closer. “That’s probably when I realized that I liked you.”

Richie choked on nothing, jolting and sloshing his margarita just over the lip of the cup, splashing onto his fingers and knee. “You liked me? What the fuck?”

“Yeah, yeah, I have shit taste in men, shut up,” Eddie spat, swatting Richie’s shoulder. His words weren’t angry though, not even really annoyed, and Richie found himself slipping just a bit closer. “But yeah. I think I knew before then, but subconsciously, and I hadn’t admitted it to myself yet. Internalized homophobia, all that jazz.”

“Yes. Internalized homophobia, something I still suffer from today.” Richie nodded, holding his glass out for Eddie to tap his glass against. Eddie did, and they both sipped their drinks.

“Anyways, yeah. I get that. I liked you a lot back then, still like you now. I meant to show you our initials I carved into the Kissing Bridge before we left Derry, but I never got a chance, either.”

Richie began to laugh, tearing up. They’d both carved each others’ initials! Both of them! The odds! Soon, Eddie began to laugh, too, once he caught on to what was so funny. They laughed, scooting closer, til they were shoulder to shoulder and knee to knee. Their laughter calmed naturally, easily, until they were both smiling at each other. God, Richie loved that smile.

“Man, wish I’d had the balls to say something,” Richie said. “God knows I had the d-”

“Beep beep.” Eddie snickered.

“Alright, fair enough.”

“It makes sense, though, doesn’t it? Like, to you at least. Why I’d come to you across the nation instead of one of the other, closer Losers for a place to stay.”

“I mean, LA’s a great location, plus I’m famous if you didn’t know that.”

Eddie glared, and Richie shrugged, apologizing even though what he said was true.

“No, I came over because, you know, I missed you. I didn’t want to go longer without seeing you, we already lost all those years together. I wanted to learn what you did during that time.”

“Same. I’d love to know what I did. And what you did, too, I guess.” Richie grinned as Eddie lightly shoved his arm. They both fell silent for a minute. Two. It was comfortable, though.

“Movie date night, here and now?” Richie asked. He blinked, forcing himself to ignore the hallucinated blood pouring down Eddie’s chin. He could deal with that later. Not now. No.

“Yes. We are not watching your special, though. It’s pure trash.”

“Perfect. We have a lot of dates to make up, if you’re interested.”

“I am. Get something started, Richie.”

Eddie reached out and took Richie’s hand in his, and Richie could swear that he’d be sleeping better tonight than he had in years.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey - thanks for reading! This work is mostly unedited and is my first try at writing Reddie. Hope you enjoyed it! <3


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